


Hot or Cold, Revenge is Sweet

by LaurenCrabtree



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Dream Cycle - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Angst, Blood, Broken Bones, Dark Carter, Death Threats, Gore, Just to be safe, M/M, Manipulative Carter, Mentions of Crawford Tillinghast, Mentions of Richard Pickman, Mentions of Throat Trauma, Revenge, Stitches, Tagging This As, mentions of eye trauma, scalpels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 17:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15912669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurenCrabtree/pseuds/LaurenCrabtree
Summary: Randolph Carter finally found a way to bring Nyarlathotep down to the status of a human. Now he has his hands on the former god and is bent on revenge.





	Hot or Cold, Revenge is Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flazéda (peternurphy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peternurphy/gifts).



> Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo; @Flazéda requested Rantep + Withholding Medical Treatment. If you want to request a fic or just chat, you can find me on Tumblr at @laurencrabtree.

Four days. That was how long Nyarlathotep had been immobilized. That was how long he had been enduring all of this pain. And that was how long it had been since Randolph Carter had betrayed him. Now he was laying in Randolph Carter’s bed, legs broken, arms bruised black and blue, and torso covered in stitches, barely able to speak. Still, he didn’t regret a single thing he had done. As soon as he managed to get out of this, he would hunt down Crawford Tillinghast and kill the bastard so slowly he would regret ever looking Randolph Carter in the eye, let alone designing the device that helped Carter bring a god down to their own status. He wouldn’t kill Carter, though; he wanted to keep him alive, make him live through an eternity of servitude until he truly saw who he was in comparison to an Outer God.

 

But for now, he had to just shut up and take it as Randolph brought the scalpel to his face one more time, slicing open his forehead with searing precision Nyarla could never have guessed he had. He wanted to close his eyes, to bite his lip, to do anything to distract from the pain, but that would just put even more stress on the seemingly infinite cuts that already covered his skin.

 

As a stray drop of blood trickled down Nyarlathotep’s temple, he heard Carter speak for the first time since he had entered the room that day.

 

“Well,” he began, his voice smooth and even. “After this, it looks like all we’ll have left to do is your back and then it will be high time I called Richard. You remember him, don’t you? The one whose family you tortured? He’d probably enjoy tearing your throat out.”

 

Nyarlathotep remembered Richard Pickman perfectly well, although not because of his family. He had tortured plenty of people over the course of many millennia; a couple of ghouls were hardly a blip on the radar. As much as he wanted to rub this fact in Carter’s face, he had to be patient for once. _Wait,_ he told himself. _Just don’t say anything for a few minutes longer and you’re home free. You can take the pain. You can take the shame. Everything will be back to normal as soon as the day is over._ How long had it been since the day had started, anyway? He tried to look at the window as best he could without moving his head, and while he should have expected it, he was still taken aback when he saw the blood staining the pillowcase. _His blood._ He never bled, not unless he wanted to, and seeing it now was almost surreal.

 

Luckily, this was followed by a promising sight: the sun was going down. It wouldn’t be too much longer until Carter put the scalpel down and gave him his daily ultimatum once more.

 

“Perhaps,” Carter mused, his words derailing Nyarlathotep’s train of thought, “ I should cut your eyes out before we’re done.” He paused, appearing to think it over. “No, that wouldn’t be right. You couldn’t see what an utter disgrace I’ve made of you that way. I could always take pictures, but that would never be as good as the real thing.” Carter ran a finger over the newly cut incision in Nyarla’s forehead, making him wince and sending a shuddering feeling of agony through his whole body.

 

“I think,” Carter said, “I think we’ll be done for today. I’m going to go a little easy on you this time.”

 

Of all the things Nyarlathotep had expected him to say, that was not one of them. Carter _never_ went easy on him. This could only mean one thing: it was a trick, a way to lure him into a false sense of security before he called Richard in a day early or worse. Randolph may have been smarter than Nyarlathotep initially believed, but apparently he still had yet to learn not to trick the Crawling Chaos.

 

He thought back to the first time Carter had tried to outsmart him, back on top of the Shantak. Carter had saved himself from flying straight into Azathoth’s waiting jaws, but that had never been Nyarlathotep’s end goal in the first place. No, he had wanted Carter to get his hopes up, and unfortunately, it worked a little too well. That was why he had gotten into this mess in the first place, letting his guard down around the now-overconfident human. Well, if the plan had backfired then, it would come to fruition now. This time, he was going to take Randolph Carter off that pedestal for good.

 

“Now I’m going to ask you again.” Nyarlathotep’s heart soared as he heard Randolph say the words he had been waiting for. “You can apologize and agree to never get in my way again, or I can keep you in this state for another day. What’ll it be?”

 

“I…” It was just one letter, but it took considerably more effort to get it out than Nyarlathotep had expected. “I give…” the words burned in his throat as if someone was raking razor-sharp talons up the inside. “I give up. Call Tillinghast, _please. Make him give me my powers back.”_ He had wanted to wait, to ensure that Carter believed him, but now the idea that Carter might try to lull him into a false sense of security was too big of a risk. He had to get out now, and not a moment sooner.

 

“Alright.” Carter said nothing more; he simply walked out of the room. Nyarlathotep could faintly hear him talking on the phone a few seconds later, although he couldn’t make out what he was saying. When he hung up the phone, Nyarla expected him to come back. Instead, he heard Randolph’s voice again, this time much louder, as if he wanted him to hear.

 

“Hello? Arkham Advertiser? …Yes, I believe I have the story of a lifetime for you. I have captured the Outer God Nyarlathotep and have him alive but powerless here at my house, but I’ll only be keeping him powerless for another twelve hours. I need you to spread the word in any way possible; I’m sure there are plenty of people who will be pleased to hear this.”

 

He said more, but Nyarlathotep didn’t hear it; what Carter had already said was frightening enough. How many people had he tortured? How many of those people were still alive? Nyarlathotep racked his brain to try and recall, but they all faded into a blur of screams and blood and emotional rushes. It didn’t matter, though; the prospect of having even one more vengeance-hungry person pay him a visit was terrifying enough on its own. All he could do now was wait with bated breath for Tillinghast to arrive—if he lived long enough to see him arrive.


End file.
